


Sorry For Yourself

by threadandflowers



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Beating, Choking, Cock & Ball Torture, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fear Play, Female Character of Color, Female-Centric, Femdom, Finger Sucking, Male Character of Color, POV Female Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Stomping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7313461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threadandflowers/pseuds/threadandflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let's talk," Samar said finally. She watched the emotions play over Aram's face: nervousness, relief, something else. Hope? Better not be.</p>
<p>Set during/at the end of 3x13, Alistair Pitt. Samar is sick of men jerking her around, and Aram seems like a good target for her frustration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to only tag the things you can currently find in the fic, but for readers' planning purposes, I know you can expect to eventually find:  
> choking, aram coming in his pants, many of the types of sex people expect to see in a cis-het pairing.
> 
> This fic came about because I was asked what I thought Samar and Aram's sex would be like, and as much as they have a lot of chemistry and I'm rooting for them, it didn't feel immediately obvious to me that they were sexually compatible. I figured someone on the internet had already answered this question, but I discovered that there is woefully little Saram smut. So then I descended into a month-long in-depth analysis of their personalities and sexualities and this is what I have come up with.
> 
> Thanks so much to zade and jessiedress for supporting me in my obsessive quest for truth, and for beta-ing this, my first ever work of fiction.

"I think it’s romantic to forgive someone you love, even if they had an insane error in judgement which gives you night sweats and causes you to lose 9 pounds in a month."

Samar felt her face sour and her jaw clench. Love? That was a bit much. She barely managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes, but only because she didn't want to give Ressler the satisfaction. She'd been genuinely sorry that she'd hurt Aram, but now he was pushing it, especially making a dig like that while Ressler could hear. They'd just found their rhythm again. What the fuck was he thinking?

...

After Liz left the room, Samar wiped the eyeliner smudges from under her eyes. She wasn't even sure why she'd gone back to the office, but after dinner with Levi had gone south, she'd wanted to do _something_ that might anchor her in a sense of purpose. She had forgotten that there was nothing to work on, no mystery to solve. All there was was her own unprocessed pain, frustration, and resentment bubbling to the surface and asking to be addressed. She might as well do that from the comfort of her apartment, where no one would stumble in and try to be supportive. She walked back into the war room with the intention of shutting down her work station and getting the hell out of there, but she saw that Aram was still at his desk gathering his things. Why was everyone here so late? Hadn’t they all had a long enough day?

She paused to watch him. He was being a little furtive after his outburst yesterday; his hands shook some as he pulled the zipper on his bag shut and slipped it over his head. Samar watched him fuss with his bike helmet until finally he noticed her watching him. They locked eyes and Aram froze. “Agent Navabi. I didn't realize you were still here.”

It was a bad lie. Samar sucked her cheeks in and appraised him, annoyed. What was she going to do with him? It was true, he'd clearly lost some weight and his eyes were redder around the rims than usual, but he had no right to blame that on her. He forgave her? There was nothing to forgive.

"Let's talk," Samar said finally. She watched the emotions play over Aram's face: nervousness, relief, something else. Hope? Better not be.

"N... Now?" he asked, scrambling to remove his helmet.

"Just wait for everyone to leave," she told him impatiently. She resumed her walk to her station and turned to her computer to find something to occupy herself so she could ignore him. She wasn't interested in Aram's doe face right now. If he thought she was going to just drop it because he looked regretful and harmless, well, he'd have to learn to handle his disappointment better.

Aram's vigilance, visible in her periphery, was profoundly distracting. Between his head wheeling around every two minutes to check how many office lights were still on, his muttering about how Ressler might do him a favor just this once and get out of here, and Samar's own impatient fists clenching and unclenching under her desk, she got about ten words read.

Finally the doors clattered shut on the elevator for the last time, and they were alone. "Come," she commanded, sparing him a glance and striding quickly toward an interrogation room. Leaving the door open, she entered the room and waited for him. He closed it gently behind him, clearly trying to delay whatever was to come. She stepped toward him as he turned so that when he was at last facing her, she was directly in front of him; all he could see.


	2. Chapter 2

Samar looked Aram in the eye and swung for his face; palm open, hand tight. The sound ricocheted off the walls as her fingers connected with the soft part of his cheek, and she snapped them back quickly to make sure it really stung. "I'm sick of it, Aram," she spat.

Aram reached up to rub his cheek, looking at Samar, betrayed. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

"No, you're going to listen first. And you're going to sit." She turned to pull the chair out from under the table behind them and face it towards him. Then she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and deftly maneuvered him into the chair. He looked up at her, awestruck and scared, but breathless too in a way she recognized. Usually this combination of terror and arousal was exactly what Samar aimed for, but right now it just made her more angry. She grabbed Aram's face in her left hand—thumb hooked under his jaw holding it steady—and smacked him again with her right, heavier this time. "And none of that sad puppy face, Aram. I won't have it."

She jerked his head to the side so she could examine the results and was pleased to see a red welt already rising on his cheek. He tried to watch her face out of the side of his eye, but she smacked him a third time so it closed reflexively.

"You feel pretty sorry for yourself, don't you, Aram? You feel betrayed by the woman you love?"

She tossed his head back as though discarding it, then grabbed his tie just below the knot to pull his face toward hers by the neck. She bent forward to meet him. "Do you understand the month I've had, Aram? The day? Do you know how sick I am of men wanting shit from me and never. once. considering. my. feelings?" She landed a punch on his chest to punctuate each of those last five words, savoring the feedback against her knuckles from his pectoral muscles as he tensed to brace himself. Aram winced, but said nothing.

"You don't get to expect shit from me. Are we clear?" She jerked his tie. He nodded meekly at her. "I don't owe you anything. And I don't want to hear any opinions from a man who doesn't have the courage to go for what he clearly wants. The way I take care of the needs you are not fulfilling is none of your concern."

"I know. I was completely out of line. I'm sorry, Agent Navabi," Aram said softly, looking plaintively up at her. Samar looked down into his sweet, open face and felt her own face set in steely rage. Aram's sweetness felt cloying right now; she wasn't looking for understanding, she wanted a fight. With a final tug, she released his tie. 

She kicked at the inside of his calf to spread his legs, then slammed her foot down in the open space on the chair. The flicker on his face as her boot landed centimeters from his balls, the quick exhale, brought a wicked grin to her face. Lifting her toe, she slid her heel forward so that she could press the deep tread of the boot into Aram's now-vulnerable crotch. Laughing nervously, Aram looked down at her foot, at his impending peril. When she didn’t move, he let the laughter fade to short, shallow breaths. 

"You know, do you? Tell me what you know," Samar demanded, eyebrows raised in a disdainful smirk.

He brought his breathing back to normal and this time when he looked back up at Samar, the terror was not gone from his face, but there was a new determination there.

"Press harder if you need to," he told her. His voice was quiet and steady. It caught her off guard and she complied before she could think. She felt his cock stiffen a little and press back against her sole. She wasn't sure how she felt about that—some mixture of intrigued and annoyed—so she ignored it, pushing harder. "I can take it. You've been through so much recently, with your brother and Ressler and even me. I know you had dinner with Levi tonight and came back crying. I can take it. Whatever you need. Do you want to hit me again?"

She'd guessed that he was into the tall scary Mossad agent thing, so she shouldn't have been surprised, but she hadn't thought he'd actually like pain. "I want to watch a man bleed, Aram,” she warned. “I want him crumpled up and crying and begging for mercy." 

Aram nodded, hesitant. "I can take it." Oh. He didn't like pain. He liked her. That wasn't the same, but might work even better given her mood right now. It was time someone suffered on her behalf rather than the other way around. How far was he willing to let her go? 

"I want to kick his ribs in. Maybe his teeth."

He looked about ready to bolt. She let him take a moment, watching him to read his process. He seemed to be deciding whether it was ok to say no. Finally, he must have tentatively decided that it was: "Ok, maybe not that one?"

“We'll see,” Samar replied, more to instill fear than because she thought she might actually smash his pretty little face. 

She slammed both fists into Aram's chest and let them sit heavily against him, pressing her knuckles deep into the meat of his pecs until he gritted his teeth and inhaled sharply. She wondered if he was trying to keep quiet. Did he think that would satisfy her? That was not at all what she wanted.

With her left hand, she grabbed hold of the tousled-just-so hair on the top of Aram's head. He gasped in pain as she pulled back to clear more space for her right fist to land swift, continuous blows she was sure would bruise. She kept her foot on his hardening cock, increasing her weight on it and enjoying this tangible sign that Aram could, in fact, take it. 

From the awkward angle she held his head, he was still trying to watch her. Deciding it might be more fun to let him, she released his hair. Her other hand was now free and she began pummeling him with it, working herself into a frenzy so that her panting was in chorus with his yelping. Samar was grinning now as Aram's reactions got louder. She lifted her foot and brought it down hard on his inner thigh. “Oh god,” he groaned. Finding this position difficult, she let her foot fall back to the ground and grabbed fistfuls of Aram's shirt on either side of his collar to pull him up to standing. She swiftly pivoted him and slammed his back into the wall next to the door, where he hit with a thud and a grunt simultaneously. 

Before Aram had a moment to catch his breath, Samar was close again, driving her knee into his crotch. He let out a strained "oof". She could feel that his cock was now very hard, and from their new standing position she could see it pressing up against his fitted pants, begging to be released in a way Aram himself was not yet doing. Samar brought her knee up to Aram's crotch again and he doubled over long enough for her to slam his stomach across her thigh. While he sputtered and gasped for air, she grabbed his shoulders and threw him into the table. It caught him under the ass, pitching him backwards onto it.

Aram propped himself up on his elbows and looked down the length of the table at Samar. He looked exhausted. His face was pinched with pain even in this moment of reprieve. "Still want to take it for me, Aram?" She asked, a little breathless. "You haven't cried yet. I'm impressed." And she was. She was moved to see the lengths to which this timid man would go to take care of her.

It was clear that he was in fact working very hard to keep from crying, but his face lit up at this praise. "Keep going," he managed to say.

"Thank you, Aram," she said quietly, almost reflexively. For a moment, she was flooded with appreciation for him.

She smiled to herself and swatted at his erection with her open palm to give him a moment to shiver with pleasure instead of pain, then clenched her fist again to strike his inner thigh. "Ahhh," Aram whined. She hit the symmetrical spot on his other thigh; he made a symmetrical noise. She hit both legs at the same time, making sure to jab the same tender spots as before.

Aram tried to pull his legs away, but Samar caught him by the thigh and pressed her thumb into a pressure point there. “The longer you struggle, the harder I press,” she warned him. “Do you really want to find out what my hands are capable of?”

“Probably not,” he choked out, stilling himself.

She lessened the pressure, but continued to use it as a leverage point for holding his leg in place while she punched along his thigh. Aram's pained sounds were getting more insistent now, and Samar could tell he'd break any moment. She released his leg and raised her fist; he flinched in preparation for the blow, and she paused to enjoy the effect. She smiled at him as though they had shared a joke, waiting until he’d relaxed slightly, then brought her hardest punch yet down in the same spot she'd started with. Aram's ensuing sniffling told her she had been right. She let him curl up into himself.

She realized with a jolt that it was time to stop. Yes, she had wanted to make a man cry, but this was Aram; sweet, loyal Aram who always knew what everyone needed and wore his vulnerability like a sign, who had gotten her her job back and hadn’t expected a thank you. He would never tell her the pain was too much. She needed to calm down, to calm them both down. She climbed up onto the table and curled herself around him, the big spoon. "Thank you, Aram," she whispered in his ear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to jessiedress and Sarah for beta-ing.
> 
> Finally we get a little smutty.

They lay still for a few minutes, Aram's tears dropping onto the arm Samar had tucked under his head. When no new tears had fallen for some time, she thanked him again. "You need to tell me what you want," she told him, trying to sound both firm and gentle.

He turned over to face her, his big watery eyes fixed on hers. For a moment she wondered if he would keep silent even after what they had just shared and she suppressed the tendril of annoyance beginning to wrap itself around her heart. She synchronized her breathing with his, held his gaze, and waited. Finally, he said, "I want to kiss you."

Samar nodded solemnly and tilted her face down toward Aram's. He stretched up into the kiss, deepening it. She reciprocated his ardor, and they stayed with their lips together, barely moving, breathing each other in for a few seconds before pulling apart. She gathered him closer in her arms and kissed him again. This time she captured his lower lip between hers and sucked on it gently, letting the soft, short hairs below it tickle where they touched the edges of her mouth. She scraped her teeth lightly against it and smiled, mouth still pressed to his, when he moaned almost inaudibly. 

Samar rolled them over so that she could be on top of him and fitted her right knee between his legs. Holding herself above him, she looked into his eyes. She was floored by the depth of his gaze. It felt as if the table under them stretched on and on endlessly as the two of them became less and less significant, or more and more—in infinity, those were the same thing. She felt Aram's hands on the nape of her neck and returned almost jarringly to the present, to the man beneath her who was pulling her towards him.

She let him pull. She let him kiss her lips open so that his tongue could wet them. She let him lock their mouths together with his hand in her hair. She willed him to do those things, and he did them. Aram was listening, Samar felt, responding and growing bolder as she relaxed into him. 

She rewarded his seeming-prescience by moving his hand to the small of her back, pressing him to press her closer, pressing herself closer, collapsing her body into his and pushing a protruding hip bone against his zipper. They both gasped. They each pushed back against the other, seeking hungrily with their hands for any skin they could reach. Aram had it easy, un-tucking Samar's tank top to grab her side right above her jeans. His hands were soft and warm, running along her sides at turns gently then roughly, nipping at her attention as she sought a way inside the fortress of his business attire.

Undeterred, she began biting his neck while she undid his tie and then his collar. She bit upwards toward his earlobe as her hands worked downward, scrambling with the buttons now, pulling his shirttails out.

He was wearing an undershirt. Of course he was. She pulled that out of the top of his pants too, sighing happily as she finally got her hands on his skin and dug her nails into the center of his back. He responded by scratching swiftly along her spine, making her gasp at his audacity. She pulled her hand out of his shirt to grab his face and push it to the side, playfully this time. Using his cheekbone for stability, she pulled her leg out from between his so she could straddle him. 

As she sat up, she pressed her ass against his cock, smirking at the thought that he could probably feel how hot she was through both of their pants. Grinding her hips against him slowly, she pulled off her tank top then reached up to redo her pony tail. When she released her thick hair from its already-loosened binding, she saw Aram's mouth fall open. She briefly considered leaving it down for him but opted for the practicality of having it out of the way. Still, that look beckoned to her. She leaned down to kiss him—surrounding them both with a dark curtain—before pulling back up to secure it.

“Sit up,” she instructed. “Take off your shirt.” She shifted backwards onto his lap so that he could comply, watching in amusement as he struggled to stay upright and pull off his undershirt at the same time. He tossed the shirt on top of the growing pile of their clothes on the floor and held himself up, his hands behind him on the table. The position made her a full head taller than him; he looked up at her, alert, waiting to be given directions.

Instead, she buried her hand in the hair at the back of his head and pulled him to her, pressing his face against her chest, guiding his kisses down the curve of her breast. His murmurs of appreciation brought home to her that this was finally happening; she’d been wearing these ridiculous push-up bras to work for months, daring Aram to presume that she might be doing it for him—daring him to approach her. Finally she was burying his face in her cleavage and it was such a relief. She reached back with one hand to unclasp her bra, certain that she did not want to know right now, in this moment when he was doing so well, whether or not Aram was capable of doing it for her. Swapping hands so she could keep one on his head, she pulled the straps down over her shoulders and slid the bra downwards, letting it bridge the space between their bodies and lightly tickle them both.

“Oh, Agent Navabi," Aram breathed into her sternum.

Caught off guard, Samar paused what she was doing to laugh. “Aram. You can call me Samar. We're nearly naked in an interrogation room.”

Aram looked up at her and she saw the reality hit him all over again, like he couldn't believe his luck. “Right. Ok… Samar. I'll try,” he replied. He was grinning at her, twinkling even. She smiled back, that same indulgent smile he always brought out in her.

She discarded the bra and pushed him back down onto the table. “Unzip your pants,” she told him then started to do the same with her own. He fumbled with his belt for a few seconds—Samar sincerely hoped this lack of nimbleness was because he was flustered, and not a true show of his capabilities. For god's sake, the man typed for a living—before she got impatient and smacked his hand away to do it herself. This turned out to be a fantastic idea. The dizzy look on Aram’s face as she slowly, purposively pulled at the zipper—letting her hand hover millimeters from his cock—was worth any previous annoyance. She wanted to jump him right then, fuck him till one of them passed out; presumably him. She also wanted to draw out his desperation as long as possible. After all, he had made her wait for months and was still making her do all the work. 

Without a hint of urgency—his obedience required no force—she leaned back over him to order, “give me your hand.” Aram looked confused but held out his right hand to her. She took it and folded down his pinky and ring finger, then licked her lips. She cocked an eyebrow as she watched him watch her slowly insert his pointer and middle finger into her mouth. Aram’s breath hitched as Samar inched his fingertips along her tongue; he positively choked when they reached her throat and she swallowed around them, then swiftly pulled them partway out so she could flick the tip of her tongue against them. 

“Ohhhh my god,” he moaned. She sucked his fingers slowly, bobbing them in and out of her mouth, steadily increasing rhythm and suction until her hips were grinding against him in time with her tongue's undulation and she forgot to watch, closing her eyes and losing herself in the smoothness of his skin against the sensitive interior of her mouth. His hands were just as soft and clean and un-fussy as she'd imagined. He tried to buck his hips against her, but she put her free hand against his stomach, letting it tangle in the trail of hair leading into his pants, and he stopped. She opened her eyes just long enough to see him looking at her with awe; wide eyed and open-mouthed. She knew he would let her have this moment, only hers, for as long as she wanted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to jessiedress and Sarah for the beta reads.

Eventually she pulled Aram’s fingers out of her mouth with a pop and let her eyes find his again. He was still staring at her in dizzy, slack-jawed wonder, but his stomach muscles were tense and he was clearly exerting some effort to keep still for her. Bringing his hand to her throat, she slowed her rocking; their ragged breathing followed suit. Aram ceased to breathe at all when she began gliding his glistening fingers down to her clavicle, then between her breasts and following the curve around and up, leaving a trail of goosebumps. She placed his palm over her nipple, which stiffened into his grasp. Letting out a soft moan, she clenched her hand over his, encouraging him to squeeze as hard as he wanted. He released the breath he'd been holding with a choked “Woah".

She put her other hand on the center of his chest and scratched a line downward with her fingernail past his belly button, over his underwear, grazing his erection lightly. She repeated the path down her own stomach and into the waistband of her cotton underpants, past the beginning of her hair, right to the edge of her cunt. Samar could feel her own heartbeat in her clit. 

She closed her eyes, bit her lip, and tilted her hips just enough that her middle finger slid past her clit to the opening of her cunt and her knuckles pressed tantalizingly imprecisely into the bulge in Aram’s underwear. “Fuck,” she whispered before she could stop herself. “Aram, you have no idea how wet I am.” He groaned desperately, squeezing her breast tighter.

“Please let me touch you, Samar.”

Tickled by his eagerness, she gave him another indulgent smile; “Not yet.” He whimpered, which, far from drawing sympathy, only strengthened her resolve to make him wait. She dipped two fingers inside herself to wet them, then pulled them back up to tease her throbbing clit. All the while she was conscious of both the inward and outward motions of her hand—how it was touching both their bodies at once, how it was making Aram squirm.

She began slowly, up and down movements with one finger on either side of her clit, building up to a circular motion. She set into a steady, swift pace, rocking again against Aram, swirling her finger under her hood and around. She let her other hand find Aram's cock and begin stroking it through his underwear while the knuckles of the hand she was using on herself still bumped against it. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, humping him now, vibrating her body against him, trying to build to where she needed to be. She couldn’t come like this; she needed more. It was time for Aram to join in.

She leaned over him, taking her hand away from where it had been jerking him over his underpants so she could prop herself up.

“Choke me.” 

“W… what?” He stammered, apparently pulled from his reverie.

“Aram, I'm so close. Choke me.”

He put his hands on her neck tentatively, and she nodded, trying to encourage him. Looking at his knuckles fearfully, he tightened his grip a little. It was about as intense as wrapping a scarf a bit too tightly.

“Aram, look at me.” He raised his eyes to meet hers, slowly, as if unsure that he really could. “Good. Now squeeze.”

He squeezed. He looked apprehensive, but held her gaze. She felt the pressure build in her head and her cunt at the same time, felt the walls—around her, inside of her—shift and contract. And then she was there. Here. Watching in slow motion as the fear left Aram's eyes, replaced by amazement and then lust, and she was shuddering on top of him, digging the fingers of her free hand into his shoulder, clenching her jaw, coming, hard. Here. Here. Right here, on a fucking interrogation room table with this man who had been such a passive fucking flirt for months and here they were. And Aram was coming too. Here. With an “Oh… shit” and a few twitches. She could feel the wetness of his cum soaking through his underwear and through hers onto the back of her hand. She pressed her fingers harder against herself, not done, because this adorable idiot had just spoiled his pants for her.

When they had finally both stopped shaking, she looked at the wet spot on his underpants and smiled indulgently again. “Shame. I was looking forward to finding out,” she told him.

“Finding out what?”

“What you could do with that erection.” She pulled her hand out of her underwear, and slowly began licking her fingers clean, pretending she didn't notice Aram's eyes widening with panic and arousal.

“Wait... I can get another one!” He blurted out.

Samar grinned at this. “Oh, I'm sure you can. But what do you propose we do while we wait?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really love any feedback anyone has. How's it feeling? What's it missing? Is the pacing working for you?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely betas Zade, Jessiedress, and Sarah.
> 
> Sorry for the long gap; I ran out of buffer and then hit some block. Het sex is difficult.

Aram looked down at his cum-stained crotch pensively. A mischievous smile spread slowly across his face. "Well... I... might have an idea..." Samar raised her eyebrows to prompt him to continue. His expression shifted to one of nervous excitement. "Ok. Great. Um... Well. I think we should definitely take off the rest of our clothes."

"Oh yes, definitely," she echoed with mock seriousness, nodding and narrowing her eyes. His earnestness was infectious though, and the tang of their mingled cum, fresh on her tongue, added a new thrill to the aftershocks that were still running through her. She leaned down to kiss him, long and deep so that he could taste it too. Then she climbed off of him and down to the floor to begin unlacing her boots. She was loathe to take them off after how much he'd enjoyed them earlier, but she was curious to see what he would suggest and resolved to let him lead. He joined her, standing and scrambling out of his pants, shoes, and socks.

They stood naked, facing each other, and for a moment all Aram did was look. Samar let him, blushing just a touch under the intensity of his gaze. "Wow. You're... I mean, I already knew, obviously, but... wow. Agent Navabi." She cleared her throat. "... Samar, sorry... I... You're just. Really gorgeous." He held her eyes for that last part, but then went back to taking in her body in awed silence.

She took the opportunity to survey him as well; if she was honest with herself, she’d been curious about what his body was like. She had, in certain moments, allowed herself to imagine that he was wiry, pliable even; muscular for utility rather than power. Ressler was a pale, solid man with pale, solid desires. A blunt tool. Aram had always struck her as more subtle, more inquisitive, more precise. More than once when he was concentrating on his screen she’d caught herself eyeing him and imagining what he could accomplish with that laser focus and light touch.

Now her mind was conjuring a few possibilities... Aram pinning her against the wall with his left hand on her neck and his right hand deep in her cunt... him using that beautiful, sharp-edged nose to part her labia before tracing her every curve with his tongue... him on top of her on the table, applying tantalizingly blunt pressure with his biking-toned thigh against her clit...

Another aftershock hit her hard, bringing her out of her head and back to the interrogation room. Aram was still lost somewhere around the swell of Samar's breasts, so she tilted her head into his line of sight and he snapped back to his plan, bashful but giddy.

"Right. Ok. So. I think you should stand..." he took her hand. Her heart leapt. The sheepish look he gave her indicated that his had as well, an electric shock passing from his fingertips to her palm. After pausing a beat to watch her face again, probably to check in that over-cautious way of his that it hadn't scared her off, he led her to stand against the side of the table. "Right here. And then I go..." He lowered himself to kneel in front of her. "Here."

Samar liked this plan. She liked the way Aram looked on his knees in front of her, head tilted upwards. "And then?" She asked, cocking her head to look at him, pretending she couldn't guess exactly what was coming next.

"And then... well... is it ok if I kiss your thigh?" He responded. He seemed genuinely unsure of her answer. 

She couldn't help but smile again. "Yes. It is," she said, nodding. She shifted her weight to facilitate his intentions, leaning against the edge of the table and opening her hips. 

He started with his lips in the middle of her inner thigh and used his whole mouth—wet lips, lithe tongue, careful teeth—to make his way upward. Wet and hot and so soft it almost tickled. She sighed, biting her lip and relaxing into the sensations. He pressed his nose into the softest part of her upper thigh and then bit firmly. She inhaled sharply. She was ready for him to put that mouth to better use, but he seemed singularly focused on her thigh. She groaned as she realized he was teasing back down the other leg with the same technique.

"Aram," she moaned, reaching down to put her hand on his cheek. Though she didn’t want to interrupt the initiative he was taking, she wanted to make sure he felt welcome to take it in a more satisfying direction. At the sound of his name, he groaned loudly and settled his face into her hand but still made no indication that he would move faster. Instead, he brought his hands up to rest lightly on her hips as if to signal that she should keep still.  She warred with herself for a moment; yes, he was trying to worship her, and she was certainly into it, but she was impatient too. 

She growled in frustration and, using his ear as a handle, pulled his face up until his nose was just tickling against her pubic hair. She held him there, millimeters from her cunt, teasing herself with his hot breath for a few achingly long seconds before burying his face in it. Aram made a muffled sound of surprise and Samar moaned in response. Just as she had imagined, the tip of his nose had the most delicious give against her clit. She wanted to ride his face, cut straight to the part where his cock was so painfully hard from her coming in his mouth that he begged her to touch it, even just a little, he didn’t care how.

She groaned, then reluctantly released him. She was supposed to be letting him show her his idea; he was so eager to prove himself. She tried to steady her breath, to wait for him to decide how to proceed.

Samar gasped as she felt Aram’s tongue flick against her cunt a few times, so light she could barely handle the teasing. Then he finally pressed his lips to hers, parting them again as he had earlier with her mouth, lazily drawing his tongue up the length of her vulva, eliciting a satisfied hum from her. Slowly, attentively, Aram introduced her body to the heat of his mouth, the cool of his breath, the varying pressures of his tongue and chin.

There was a gratifying echo to the sound of his lips smacking together as he pursed them around and pulled them off her clit over and over and over, in the way it punctuated the bob of his head, intensified the subtle scratching from his facial hair on the most intimate parts of her inner thighs. If he did this right—and it seemed likely that he would—she'd still be a bit raw tomorrow. It would be a hot, secret little hindrance in the field; not enough to throw her off, of course, but enough to sharpen her focus. Samar relished a challenge.

The thought of it sent blood rushing to her clit and she felt herself get harder, more pronounced in Aram’s mouth, felt the nerve endings become dizzyingly alert. She grasped the edge of the table with one hand and tangled the other in Aram’s hair; every muscle in her body clenched. Aram held her hips to keep her in place, and to help keep the table from sliding backwards as she leaned harder into it. She couldn’t tell whether the sweat slicking his grip was hers or his. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was giving him more leverage because it was getting harder to stay standing with her toes pointed as they were.

She took her hand out of his hair to hold the table with both hands and support her weight as she swung her legs around to sit on his shoulders.

He paused to look up at her. "Oh, wow," he breathed.

"Don’t stop." She had hoped to sound commanding, but she was in considerably less control than she'd expected, so it was more like a breathy plea. Regardless, he eagerly returned his face to her cunt, grabbing her ass to pull her close. She stifled a moan and tried to collect herself enough to sound threatening as she told him, "you need to make me come before this—" Aram did some spectacular tongue trick that unleashed a loud, involuntary moan, stopping her mid-sentence. "—position becomes unsustainable." 

He chuckled without lifting his face, but in this position he was able to peer up at her and meet her eyes. Bold. "Or what?" He spoke muffled, pressed directly against the opening of her cunt. She sighed from the vibrations of his voice running up through her insides then cried out when the next moment he enveloped her clit in his mouth, sending a jolt to the base of her spine.

Fuck control. She was pure need. "If you don’t make me come in two minutes, you’ll find out," she told him, again sounding more desperate than she would have preferred. She felt his grin in the form of exposed teeth against her cunt.

He picked up his pace, using his hands to practically slam her pelvis against his mouth, nodding and shaking his head to provide more movement, more friction. She had every confidence that she wouldn't need to come up with any punishment. Between gasps, she said to him, "I... had a feeling... you... performed well... under... pressure."

He said something affirmative, but Samar didn't hear it because at the same time he lifted her  ass onto the table, pushed her over onto her back, pinned her hips to the surface with his hands, and continued grinding what she could only conclude was the entire lower half of his face against her cunt. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck! FUCK!" she sputtered, her voice getting higher with each exclamation. "Yes, Aram! Right there! Yes! Like that!" Where was this forcefulness coming from? She put both hands on the back of his head, grabbing any hair she could reach—not so much to guide him as to hold onto him, to transfer some of the nearly overwhelming sensation back to him. She let her jaw go slack as her stomach muscles tensed. She heard Aram roar and realized her grip on his hair might be hurting him, but she couldn’t help it. Besides, she knew he would work through the pain.

And then her mind went blank.

Samar's body was thrashing. She was barely aware of the hard surface of the table smacking against her shoulder blades with a slight stick and pull at her skin, or the seemingly endless guttural groan escaping her own throat. Her senses narrowed to Aram’s head as a single focal point: the soft cushion of his tongue against her clit; his muted, urgent moaning; the glint in his eye where he was still watching over the crest of her pubic bone. She held her breath, held his gaze, held his head against her cunt, and came. And came and came, wringing every last tremor from her own body with the willing cooperation of Aram's face.

When she finally let him up, he was panting as hard as she was. She lay on her back, arms sprawled above her, smiling at the ceiling and waiting for her vision to clear. Through the white noise of her own breathing against her eardrums she heard Aram shuffling around on the floor. She sat up to see what he was up to, half grimacing as she slid in a small puddle of sweat, saliva, and cum. Aram had picked up his undershirt from the pile of clothes and was wiping his face on it when she caught his eye again. She grinned; he was going to be covered in cum by the time she let him out of here. She looked him up and down and noticed his cock was hard again. She licked her lips reflexively. Oh, he was going to be _covered_ in cum by the time she let him out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I just have one more part. I'm considering writing it from Aram's perspective. I originally wanted it all to be from Samar's perspective because she's the one I care about and I was really interested in exploring her thoughts, feelings, sexuality, etc. and not just objectifying her as *invulnerable* or *broken* or *exotic tall scary lady spy*, but I'm tired of not getting to talk about how hot she is.
> 
> I also kind of want her to think his cock looks so appealing she just needs to put it in her mouth, but I'm also really into her not doing that and they just have PiV sex.
> 
> Happy to take opinions on those fronts, or hear any feedback at all really.


End file.
